


Journeys' End

by msgenevieve



Series: Daylight [3]
Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M, Het, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some answers are easier than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journeys' End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nell65](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nell65/gifts), [sk56](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sk56).



> This story is written for my very dear friends nell65 and sk56, two amazing people who have been in my life for a very long time, much to my delight and honour.

~*~

 

 _Journeys end in lovers meeting,  
Every wise man's son doth know._

~ Twelfth Night, William Shakespeare

 

 

“Do you want to have children?”

A piece of jam-smeared toast stopping on its way to her mouth, she stares at him. She’s barely managed to conquer the task of unpacking her belongings and find her way around his house (her house now, apparently) and now he’s asking her if she wants children. If it wasn’t just after nine o’clock in the morning, she’d be tempted to add a belt of Scotch to her coffee. “Uh, maybe.” Suddenly feeling ridiculously shy, she smiles at him. “Why do you ask?”

One long finger tracing the curve of his own coffee cup’s handle, he nods towards the kitchen window. Through it, she can see into the garden to where his son is playing football with a neighborhood friend. “You’ve been here ten days, and Adam is already the happiest I’ve seen him since his mother died.” He turns back to her, and the naked yearning in his ocean-colored eyes twists her heart. “We talked about this once before, remember?”

“I remember. You talked about white picket fences and a dog and maybe even a child of our own.” She drops the piece of toast on her place, then wipes her sticky fingers on her crumpled napkin. She doesn’t like to think of that day. For a few, brief hours, she’d had everything she’d ever wanted; Michael, her freedom, her father’s respect. Then fate had turned on a dime, as it so often did in Section, and she’d been left with no one and nothing but the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Six years apart doesn’t seem to have robbed Michael of his ability to read her emotions. He reaches out to her, his fingertips dancing along her jaw before sliding around the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you.” His gaze burns into hers, and she feels the familiar pull towards him, her bones and blood seeming to hum at his touch. “But we’re not talking pipedreams now.” His lips curve in a slow smile, the smile that has haunted her dreams for so long. “This is real.”

Her eyes blur hotly. The promise of a future with this man has sustained her for six fucking years, but now that she’s finally here, sitting at this kitchen table and eating breakfast like a normal person, she’s beyond terrified. She has orchestrated military strikes with an ease that still chills her blood, and yet she is sitting here now, fumbling for words. In the end, she decides to play inquisitor, a role that feels much more comfortable. “Do _you_ want another child?”

His thumb is stroking the pulse beneath her jaw now, making her shiver pleasantly despite the warmth of the kitchen. “I want to make you happy.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

He smiles, and the wealth of promise in his eyes steals the breath from her lungs. “It is for me.”

She leans into his touch, her skin tingling the feel of his palm against her cheek. The last ten days have reminded her - in the most pleasant of ways - that the most chaste of caresses from this man can still bring her to her knees. “Being with you makes me happy.”

His bright eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile widens, and she has the sudden urge to press a lingering kiss to each new line that now marks his tanned face. “That’s not an answer,” he murmurs teasingly, each lilting word flowing over her like the melted butter pooling on her plate.

She lifts her face to his, brushing her mouth against lips that taste of coffee and blackberry jam. There are many, many things they still need to discuss, and last night she could still barely commit to which side of the bed she would prefer, but some answers are easier than others. “It is for me.”

 

~*~


End file.
